Look at you, Hermione Granger!
by Reproba
Summary: Hermione would never have had the guts to go after the guy of her dreams, until a certain perky Hufflepuff and a sharp-tongued Slytherin give her the makeover of a lifetime.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I always thought that Hermione had some help with her make over in the fourth book and while wondering who would have helped, the two OC's in this fic were spawned. It's my first fic, guys, so be nice? And review! Please? I'd really like hearing opinions on it!

* * *

It was no secret among the students of Hogwarts that History of Magic was an exceptionally difficult class. It wasn't so much the class itself; no, the material was easy enough. No, no, what made History of Magic so impossible was the teacher. Professor Binns and his droning lectures were about as powerful as a Sleeping Draught.

Hermione reasoned that this was the reason she was staring at Draco Malfoy. She hadn't even realized she'd been doing it until Pansy Parkinson stroked her bony fingers through his hair and she found herself wondering, just for a moment, what it would be like. Furious with herself, she'd made a silent resolution to focus when she turned back to Binns hovering in the front of the classroom. That lasted all of ten minutes. As holding her head up became harder so did focusing. And here she was, staring again.

Hermione knew how bad this was. If he caught her she would never live it down. Harry and Ron would no doubt hear about it within an hour. She could just imagine the looks on her best friends' faces. Oh, Ron especially would never be able to look at her right ever again. But she couldn't stop!

At least she wasn't alone. Everyone else seemed to be asleep, sprawled across the desks with their heads in their arms. No one was awake enough to even notice what she was doing. Well, that Hermione could see.

Three rows behind Hermione, Arisande Crawford-James sat wide awake, though completely bored. She lazily levitated her quill a few inches over her notebook. Professor Binns never took much notice of her so History of Magic was used more to practice her Charms than anything else. Not that she needed practice in it. She had a sort of natural brilliance for it.

With a sigh she let her quill drop to the desk and tucked her wand safely up her sleeve. Glancing up at Professor Binns to see if he was anywhere near the end of his lecture (he wasn't) and—

_Is Hermione Granger actually…? She's staring at him? Oh, she is! _Arisande's eyes lit up. Leaning forward on the desk, her lips spread into a Cheshire-cat like smile.

"—write about three instances that may have contributed to the start of the rebellion, no less than two rolls of parchment, due by the end of the week," Professor Binns announced over the loud bell chimes that signaled the end of the class. In a chaotic flurry Arisande stood, gathered her books and her bag, and rushed out the door.

Hermione was the last person the exit the classroom. The moment she stepped over the threshold, her books precariously balanced in her thin arms and bushy hair held behind her ear with her quill, Arisande pounced.

"Come with me!" she squeaked. Taking some of Hermione's books into her own arms, she grabbed the confused Gryffindor by her freed wrist and pulled her along in search of the nearest empty room. Too stunned to do anything else, Hermione allowed herself to be dragged by this (shockingly strong) tiny stranger without a fight.

They stopped outside of a small, shabby wooden door. Arisande threw open the door quickly and shoved Hermione inside with a hushed "in you go". Hermione spun around to get her first look at her captor.

She was incredibly petite. She stood no more than an inch over five feet and looked as though she weighed about as much as a house elf. Her face was impish with high round cheekbones, plump lips, and wide teal eyes. Her child-like face was framed by coppery brown curls.

"I saw what you were doing in there!" she declared with a dimpled smile.

Hermione felt her face flush. She can't be talking about me staring, can she? I didn't think anyone had noticed!

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, wishing her cheeks would cool down. The girl kept smiling. Hermione frowned. "Who are you?"

She shoved her hand out enthusiastically, pink nail polish shimmering. "Arisande Crawford-James, fourth year Hufflepuff and granddaughter of Estelle Crawford—you know? The designer?"

Hermione stared blankly and hesitantly shook the girl's hand. After a few moments she managed to stammer out a semblance of a sentence. "I-I'm sorry? What exactly…what did you see me doing?"

"Staring at Draco, of course—I saw the whole thing!"

Hermione blanched. Someone had caught her!

"Oh, it's not so bad! I'm pretty sure I was the only person awake enough to notice, honestly. You're greatly lucky that it was me who caught you though—"

Hermione was only vaguely aware that Arisande was still talking. Her heart was beating in her ears. Deny! A voice in her head shouted.

"What?" She laughed loudly, cutting the girl off. Hermione shook her head. "You think you saw me…no, no, I wasn't staring at him. Honestly, that's just ridiculous. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Hermione scooped her books out of the girls arms rather forcefully and briskly brushed passed her and out of the closet. Arisande frowned after her.

_Poor thing_, she thought sadly. _She's in denial. Well, we'll just have to do something about this._

* * *

Arisande Crawford-James was the only child of Cordelia Crawford and Marlon James, both only children who had been spoiled limitlessly. Cordelia, especially. Cordelia was the daughter of Estelle Jocinda Crawford (also an only child). While the James' were old money, Estelle built an empire singlehandedly. It was an empire of the finest silks and chiffons, but an empire nevertheless. Estelle raised Cordelia with the same fine, admittedly high maintenance taste that she had. So naturally, as the product of a series of spoiled only children, Arisande was quite used to getting her way.

So when she showed up in the library later that day instead of her Divination class (she truly doubted Trelawney would notice she was missing), she was prepared. She'd come up with a speech and everything and was determined not to let Hermione weasel away again. Somehow, she was going to make Hermione come around. Spotting the Gryffindor quickly—she was one of three students and the only one that wasn't a Ravenclaw—she skipped over to her and plopped down in the seat across from her.

"Okay, so even though you have made it perfectly clear that you were absolutely not staring at a certain someone," Arisande said quickly, visibly startling Hermione. The Gryffindor looked up at her in frantic disbelief. "I just need to make it clear that if you, for any reason, were staring at a certain someone…well, that I could be—" Arisande scrunched her face up thoughtfully. "—helpful! If that were the case, that is."

Hermione stared at her warily. She honestly didn't know what to make of this girl. "What do you mean by…helpful?"

The girl squealed excitedly and bounced in her seat, making Hermione almost regretted speaking at all. Arisande pulled the book from Hermione's grasp and clapped her own tiny, manicured hand over Hermione's. "I have a fool-proof plan. Trust me, this will work!"

Hermione opened her mouth to ask what would work but it was clear that Arisande wasn't listening anymore. She pulled Hermione up from the table and shoved all of the books into the worn bag that hung from the back of Hermione's char.

"I promise you, you will not regret this!" said Arisande. She grabbed Hermione's hand again and began pulling her from the library.

"Where are we going?"

"You can't possibly expect me to tackle this alone, can you?"

Hermione frowned. _Should I be offended by that?_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **I'm so sorry this took so long! There was just a lot going on and this story sort of fell to the wayside. I'll try to be better in the future. _

* * *

Speak to any first year and they would unanimously agree that the coldest and most unwelcoming place in all of Hogwarts were its dungeons. They would most likely continue on to say that this was undoubtedly due to the dungeons' main occupant: the dungeon bat, the greasy git of a Potions Master himself, Professor Snape. And directly after such an announcement of detestation for the Potions Master from these unaware first years, you would be introduced to one Mirelle Le Noir.

And she would not be happy.

Mirelle, the pale-as-a-ghost fourth year Slytherin, was the first and only Slytherin in her family, something she was quite proud of. In fact, she was beyond proud of being a Slytherin in general; she loved the reputation, she loved the status. She loved her House… specifically, her head of House.

Indeed, Mirelle had idolized the Potions Master for as long as she had been in Hogwarts. More than idolized, really. Even she was inclined to agree that she was rather infatuated with the man. Unfortunately, he hadn't seemed to notice her adoration of him. As a matter of fact, the only time he really seemed to notice her at all was when she went out of her way to make him.

Which was exactly what she was doing now. She'd hiked up her skirt and placed herself in clear view of her Professor. He, however, did not seem to mind at all—or, rather, hadn't even noticed. That seemed to be the problem with him. That was the problem with men in general, really; completely, utterly, oblivious.

It was difficult and rather unsavory to lump her beloved Professor in with the rest of the male population, but to do so was a much easier fact to swallow than the other option: he simply did not care about her or her advances. So, oblivious he was. He had to be, really. To this day, she could remember the first words from his mouth to ever grace her ears: "I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper…in death."

Yes, to this day the line had the same effect on her as it first did. She'd sat in total awe of him as soon as he'd begun to speak, been on the edge of her seat for his next word, jumped at the harshness in his voice when he'd snapped at Potter. She was completely enamored by his rough, gritty personality.

And, since she had exhausted all other options, it was high time to get a little more…abrupt.

Within arm's reach, on the other side of the desk that Mirelle had oh-so-carefully positioned herself on, sat a cauldron, Pewter, size 12, the standard cauldron. Virtually unbreakable (however, easily melted, as she had learned from several years of having Potions with the Gryffindors), they were also very loud when they fell to the stone floor of the dungeons. She couldn't help but smirk. 'Even a first year Hufflepuff couldn't ignore this,' she thought, flicking the cauldron off of the desk.

Her Professor snapped to attention as the clang rang through his classroom, and he followed the cauldron with his eyes as it rolled to a stop in front of his desk. By the time Professor Snape glanced back up at Mirelle, she'd already feigned total shock, clapping a hand over her open mouth.

"Oh, Professor!" she gasped, "I'm so sorry! All these classes with the Gryffindors must be having a terrible effect on me…—let me get that for you!" Snickering softly to herself, she hopped from her perch and practically bounced over to where the cauldron had come to a stop. Turning her back to him, she wondered briefly if he shared a fondness for silver and green like the rest of his House (if so, she'd certainly dressed for the occasion). Mirelle took a quick breath and curled her lip up in a smirk as she bent over, imagining him approaching her, touching her, calling her "Mirelle" instead of "Miss Le Noir"…

And then the door banged open.

Undoubtedly the sudden noise startled Mirelle far more than it did Professor Snape (who, unbeknownst to Mirelle, had not moved from marking his papers), and she stumbled forward slightly. Fuming, she grimaced, and turned on her heel toward the door to berate whoever dared to barge in on her.

"Professor-Snape-I'm-so-sorry-to-interrupt-but-Mirelle-is-needed-urgently-at-the-hospital-wing!" And whoosh, the next thing she knew, Mirelle was stumbling out of the Potions classroom and into the wall.

"What. Were. You. THINKING!" There was an exasperated sigh. "And for Merlin's sake pull your skirt down!"

Mirelle took a deep, meant-to-be-calming breath and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Arisande, do you know how many times you've interrupted me?"

"Well! It's not like it's my fault—"

"Seventeen! Seventeen times now! Any time I remotely get close to talking with him—"

"Oh rubbish! Flashing your knickers at him is NOT 'talking'! And you act like you'd even stand a chance with the bat—"

"Of course I would! I'm Mirelle Le Noi—"

"Yes, yes we know who you are! It's about time you get over this 'crush' thing," Arisande blanched at the word, "and move on to something more realistic, like helping me help Hermione here!"

"Who the hell's Hermione?"

Arisande hopped to her left and yanked forward the bushy-haired fourth-year who'd been cowering against the dungeon wall. "Hermione, meet Mirelle Le Noir! She's my best friend!" Arisande suddenly pounced on Mirelle and squeezed her tightly around the middle (something Mirelle was not pleased about) and squealed "And together, we're going to help you get Draco as your very own!"

"Wait, wait, what?" Mirelle wrenched herself out of Arisande's grasp and brushed herself off indignantly. "Hermione? The Gryffindor Draco nabbed with that Densaugeo hex?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Why the HELL would she like him? That's absolutely ridiculous!" Mirelle tossed her head and crossed her arms. "For Merlin's sake he hit her with a hex and laughed about it!"

Arisande gaped. "It's not like he MEANT to hit her! He was aiming for Harry!"

"I don't care who he was aiming for, all I know is if I was hit by a hex I'd go after the little wanker. And you call my liking Snape pathetic! There's no WAY I'm going to help some little Gryffindor with her pathetic little bad boy crush—"

"Well, I really don't see much of a difference between that and your crush on Snape—"

"—I mean honestly, how pathetic is that? I bet she's never even TALKED to him. It's almost as bad as your crush on Ced—"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Arisande finally shouted, clenching her fists and stomping. "I don't care what you would do or why she likes him but she does and I'm helping her and so are you AND THAT'S FINAL!"

And with that, Arisande swept from the dungeons, muttering indignantly to herself.

Mirelle snorted, tossing her hair. "Of all the things she could have learned from me, she takes that." She glanced over at Hermione, whose jaw had dropped to the floor and eyes had widened. Mirelle rolled her eyes. "Come on," she stepped behind Hermione and started marching her forward, "it's not all that bad."

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure what she had gotten herself into. She was sitting on the sink top in Moaning Myrtle's toilet, staring at the two very different girls who had brought her there and the ghostly girl who seemed all too thrilled to be a part of whatever was going on. And frankly, she was beginning to regret ever agreeing to…whatever this was.

"Honestly, Hermione," Arisande pouted. She had been staring at Hermione's eyebrows for quite some time now looking positively peeved. She pulled Hermione's forehead taut. "Your eyebrows are all wrong."

Hermione scowled. "How can they be wrong?"

"Very easily; mine were too when I met her," Mirelle quipped.

"Erm…how did you two meet, anyway?" Hermione had been wondering this for the past hour. Arisande and Mirelle seemed about as opposite as two girls could get.

Arisande grinned widely and took a deep breath, preparing to launch into what Hermione was sure to be a longwinded and well-rehearsed recounting of the girls' friendship. "Well, it was the beginning of second year and—"

"I was sitting in a dark corner, all by my lonesome, in total peace and quiet," she sighed, "and then Arisande saw me, decided I was "too lonely," she air quoted this, "and she hasn't shut up since."

"Well!" Arisande huffed, frowning deeply at Mirelle. Turning back to Hermione, she shook her head. "It wasn't exactly like that, I assure you. I mean…that is sort of the gist of it, but she made it seem like—"

"See what I mean?" Mirelle said flatly.

"Never mind how we met, then!" Arisande sent her a withering glare and turned to Hermione once again. "I'm going to write my Grandmamma tonight and have her send everything I need. I'll have to grow your eyebrows out, so there's that. Then there are the basics, foundation and blush and whatnot. Are you happy with your eyelash length? I could have her send me—"

"What are you planning on doing to me, exactly?" Hermione said cautiously. She felt her stomach twist at the smile that spread across Arisande's face.

"Oh, just you wait!"


	3. Chapter 3

It'd been three days since Hermione had met Arisande and Mirelle, and she hadn't really talked to either since. She was beginning to think she'd imagined the whole bizarre thing when, quite literally out of nowhere, Arisande popped up next to her during breakfast and dropped a large box (complete with an unconscious owl) in front of her.

"Grandmama always pulls through," Arisande said with a large smile. Hermione looked back to the box and the owl and briefly considered taking the poor thing to the Hospital Wing. Arisande waved her hand. "He'll be fine; he just needs to sleep it off."

Hermione peered into the box and pulled out a pink feathered headband that was, in all honesty, quite unattractive. Hermione made a face and Arisande snatched it from her with a squeak.

"Oh, that isn't for you! Grandmama always sends something funny for—"

"Really, she's not as funny as she thinks."

Hermione stared, somewhat astonished, at Mirelle. These two seemed to have a knack for appearing out of thin air. It was a bit unnerving. Hermione wasn't the only one who seemed to think that, Harry and Ron were both watching the scene with cautious and questioning faces.

"How did you—" Arisande started.

"I heard you squealing from across the hall."

Arisande seemed to deflate for a moment, bottom lip pushed out in a pout. She narrowed her eyes and shoved the feathered thing into Mirelle's hands and turned to Hermione, shoulders back and chin high. "Come on," she said, grabbing the box. "We've work to do. And you," she turned to Mirelle. "You have work to do yourself, don't you?"

Mirelle sneered and rolled her eyes as Arisande marched out of the hall, Hermione following confusedly behind. Mirelle shook her head and followed right after them on a mission of her own.

"Harry," Ron said dazedly. "What just happened?"

"I've no idea."

Mirelle had always fancied herself to be quite a sly person, so she was not at all surprised when it had fallen to her to discretely find and convince a certain Durmstrang celebrity to ask a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor to the Yule Ball. As bulky as he was, and attracting as much attention as he did, Viktor Krum stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of Hermione's favorite respite: the library.

She was sitting at the table for a full minute (a personal record) before he'd glanced up at her over the top of a particularly large and particularly ancient looking book he'd been hiding behind. "Can I help you?"

Mirelle grinned, twisting her fingers together in glee, and leaned forward, purring, "I know what you've been doing."

The Durmstrang champion clearly looked uncomfortable, making her wonder what else he had been up to. Then, straightening up and taking an air of indigence, "I haff no idea vot you mean."

She clucked her tongue in mock disapproval. "Come now, Krummy, dear, it's not that difficult to figure out. An athletic figure like yourself, cooped up behind shelves of books every waking free moment? There must be a reason… perhaps, dodging little giggling girls who should know that I don't like being interrupted while I'm conducting business on penalty of being fed alive to the Thestrals?"

Indeed, the said giggling autograph seeking girls took notice at this. While none among them had the slightest idea of what a Thestral was, they were very aware of the tone in which the Slytherin had said it, which was more than enough to disperse them. Viktor watched them go in surprise. "Thank you. They haff been following me efferyvare."

"No problem, Krummy." Mirelle waved her hand dismissively in the direction that they had gone. "Now that we have that taken care of," she smiled, cat-like, at Viktor. "I know you've been watching the Granger girl." She held a hand up impatiently as he began to argue. "Please. I've seen what you've been doing in here. I'm a…a new friend of hers." There was a pause. "She likes you, you know."

Viktor straightened up. "She does?"

Mirelle, drawing from Arisande's uncanny ability to assure absolutely anyone of anything, shot her voice up several octaves. "Oh of course! Yes, yes, she talks about you all the time!" Mirelle glanced around, then lowered her voice and leaned forward. "You were planning on asking her to the ball, weren't you?"

"Veil…" Viktor coughed and shifted about nervously. "I haff been trying…but I haff heard that Hermy-own has already been asked by Harry Potter."

It took her a moment to realize Viktor was talking about Hermione. Then, "Oh, no! Nonono! Nonsense. I assure you. Really," Mirelle stressed through grit teeth and a forced smile, now understanding why Arisande had been oh so smug when she'd delegated this task to her. "You should really get to it soon, you know."

"But she has not been in the library today—"

"Well then, aren't you lucky I know exactly where she's going to be this afternoon? Come, come now," Mirelle motioned him up. "We have to catch her before she goes into lunch."

When they arrived at the entrance to the Great Hall, Mirelle began to wonder if she shouldn't have hurried Viktor along so much. It wasn't as though Arisande never dawdled when it came to makeup. Her searching only came to a halt when she heard Viktor breathe, "Is that Hermy-own?"

And there she was, across the entrance to the Great Hall, standing by herself amongst the small groups filtering into the Hall for lunch. 'Arisande's outdone her self this time,' Mirelle thought, observing Viktor's reaction to the new Hermione in front of him. The contents of the box had obviously gone to good use, smoothing out her hair and bringing out her natural beauty.

"Go on now, Krummy dear," Mirelle nudged the gaping Durmstrang boy forward with her foot, then muttered, "Merlin knows Sleekeazy's never seen a head of hair like that before…"

"Oh isn't this wonderful, Elle!" When Mirelle jumped and cursed in shock, Arisande batted and shushed her. "Quiet! There he goes!"

Viktor, unlike his fellow Durmstrang students, did not hesitate, or wait for a friend's backup. Straightening up as he did before entering a Quidditch pitch, he marched up behind Hermione and tapped her on the shoulder. Viktor smiled warmly at the Gryffindor before taking her hand. "Hermy-own, veil you go to the ball vith me?"

Hermione smiled, casting an anxious glance in Arisande and Mirelle's direction for support. Mirelle was, sadly, unable to lend any, as she was currently nearly blue from Arisande, who was watching the spectacle so nervously that she'd grabbed her around the middle a tad too tight. Hermione laughed, breaking the tension, and finally relaxed her hand in the Bulgarian's. "Yes, Viktor, I'd love to."

Mirelle would later look back in amazement upon hearing that neither Ron or Harry had any idea who had asked Hermione to the ball, what with how Arisande screamed her head off about it right outside of the Great Hall.


End file.
